


By my life or death

by killabeez



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Loyalty Kink, M/M, Post-Series, Pre-Slash, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: Five years after leaving Paris for good, Duncan gets wind of trouble in the Watchers, and enlists his friends to help him save the one mortal he can't lose.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).



> “If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.” —Aragorn, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

_December 2003_

The holiday markets of Barcelona thronged with people on a December day that had dawned bright and mild. Duncan MacLeod wound his way through the crowds, stopping to admire the handcrafted gifts, murmuring “Sólo estoy mirando,” with a smile on the rare occasions that a vendor noticed him. His Christmas list was extremely short these days.

When the sun sank and the temperature began to fall, he made his way homeward. A few blocks from his flat, he rounded a corner, and opportunity presented itself: he slipped into a narrow alley between two buildings and hid himself in a shadow. 

He didn’t have long to wait. The kid was good; Duncan gave him that. He reacted quickly, and nearly managed to draw his weapon before Duncan incapacitated him and dragged him behind a dumpster. A quick glance at the man’s wrist revealed a Watcher tattoo at least a few years old. Duncan searched him, and found not one but two pistols equipped with silencers, two cell phones, a passport that IDed him as Stephane Martin, age 28, from Beaune—and a short, utilitarian sword, honed to a sharp edge. The little voice at the back of Duncan’s head that had been warning him for days that something wasn’t right deepened into a distinct and specific warning.

He took Martin’s pulse—if that was his name—and checked the alley entrance. Disappear, or risk waiting around to question the kid? The silencers were ominous. Duncan pulled out his own phone and considered for a moment. He hadn’t spoken to Dawson on the phone in more than two years. His hesitation didn’t last long, though, outweighed by a sinking certainty that was not assuaged when the number he dialed replied with only long, unanswered rings. 

“Dammit, Joe, pick up.”

As if roused by his voice, Martin stirred. Duncan crouched next to him with the kid’s Glock in his hand, waiting until the Watcher blinked into awareness before pulling the slide and cocking the gun at Martin’s chest. 

“Morning. Looks like you dozed off for a second, there.”

Martin, to his credit, didn’t move. As he registered his change in circumstances, his reaction was impressively controlled, betraying only a hint of fear. His eyes quickly swept their surroundings, then returned to Duncan’s with fierce defiance.

Duncan sighed. “Tough guy, I see. Want to start by telling me who sent you?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m your Watcher.”

Duncan smiled. “Nice try. Now, how about the truth?” He waved the gun slightly for emphasis.

Martin’s face closed up. “Go to hell. I’m not telling you anything.”

Duncan, who recognized devotion to a cause when he saw it, revised his estimate of how bad things were by several orders of magnitude. “Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”

“It won’t matter anyway. You’re a dead man. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.”

Duncan nodded. “So, your plan was to kill me.” Martin didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Feigning boredom, Duncan said, “Let me guess. James Horton was your childhood hero, and you’ve been waiting all this time to carry out his grand scheme to eliminate all the Immortals. Starting with me.”

But Martin’s reaction surprised him. “Horton! He betrayed the order. This is all his fault! And yours.”

Duncan was all too aware that he didn’t have much time, if he wanted to get out of his current location without being spotted. He dialed it down with effort. “Listen, hot shot. I don’t care what line of bullshit you’ve been fed. I could’ve spent the last ten years bringing the Watchers to their knees if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t. I’m not your enemy.”

Martin gave a harsh, bitter laugh. “The Watchers are history. It’s over. And so are the Immortals—you just don’t know it yet.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, over?” Martin shut his mouth as if he’d already said too much, his eyes glaring daggers. Duncan asked the one thing he needed to know, his stomach sick with dread. “What about Dawson?”

Martin looked bitterly triumphant. “Probably dead by now, thanks to you.”

Duncan’s heart gave a sideways stutter. Before he knew what had happened, he had his hand around the kid’s throat, and the muzzle of the gun jammed against Martin’s forehead. “Probably?”

At last, Martin blanched, though he didn’t shrink away. “You don’t scare me,” he bit out.

“Really.” Duncan dug the pistol into his skull and let his voice drop. “You sure about that? Because there are things worse than death.”

Lesser men than Martin had crumbled like so much sand under that particular pressure, and few had stood against it. “It’s too late for Dawson,” Martin told him, a tremor of fear evident at last, more convincing than his bravado. “And it’s too late for you. If you give a damn about the human race, you’ll let me go, and let me do what I came to do.”

It was sincere enough to give Duncan pause. “And why would I do that?”

“Because,” Martin said, “It’s better than the alternative. We can’t afford to let someone like you fall to a Kronos, or worse.”

For an eternity of seconds, Duncan hesitated. Martin was talking about the Gathering. What had changed? If the Watchers were no more, then what grim consequences might arise from their ashes? They possessed vast stores of information on every Immortal still alive. If that fell into the wrong hands…

“Tell me where Dawson is, and I’ll consider it.”

Martin’s face closed up. “I told you, I’m not telling you _merde_.”

Duncan let out a breath. “Fine. Have it your way.” He locked Martin into a choke hold until the lack of blood flow to the brain did its job. Then he bowed his head, the gun resting against his knee. After a long space of heartbeats, he dug for his phone.

~ * ~

“Give a girl a little warning next time,” Amanda said, as she opened the door and stood aside to let them in. “Two MacLeods for the price of one? Things must be serious.”

Duncan stepped into the foyer and kissed the cheek she presented him. “Play nice, for Joe’s sake,” he warned her.

“I will if he will,” Amanda said, eyebrow arched, but she stood back to let Connor enter. “It’s been a long time. No hard feelings?”

“I can be very forgiving,” Connor said. At Amanda and Duncan’s look, he shrugged. “What? Everyone says that about me.”

Amanda led them into the living room of her hotel suite. Cases of electronic gear lay spread out on various surfaces, sleek and black and reassuring in their gleaming precision. 

“Okay, so, here’s what we know,” she began, all business. “Joe was picked up at his club in Paris eleven days ago. You know those brand new shiny traffic cameras they’ve put in everywhere? We were able to use their footage to trace the license plate. It led us to this location, a chateau in Seine-et-Marne.” She leaned over a computer keyboard and called up a set of photos, angling the screen so the MacLeods could see. “Myers and Nick did a quick recon earlier today, and this place definitely has ‘top-secret Watcher lair’ written all over it. State of the art surveillance, guards, laser sensors, you name it.” At Duncan’s expression, she waved a hand. “Don’t worry about the tech, though. It’s nothing Nick and I can’t handle. As long as you two can get past the muscle, we’ll take care of the rest.”

The urge to press her on the details was strong, but Duncan bit his tongue. While he’d been burying himself in books, she’d spent the last few years becoming a world-class surveillance expert—not to mention all she’d learned from partnering with an ex-cop and an equally resourceful ex-spy. Plus, it was Joe. Amanda might play fast and loose with the rules, but with Joe’s life on the line, there were few people he trusted more.

Eleven days. They had to hope that Dawson was worth more to them alive than dead.

“How many guards?” he asked. 

Amanda called up a schematic that showed thermal readings on the perimeter and interior of the property, with the locations of detectable personnel. Duncan counted eighteen signatures. Near the center of the house was a good-sized room that appeared empty, and she pointed to the dark spot on the map. “It could be this is a storage room, or it could be shielded. Knowing them, my money’s on the latter.”

“Understood.” Duncan glanced at Connor. “When can we go in?”

Amanda checked her watch. “Sunset’s in… fifty-three minutes. It’ll take us at least that long to get in position. We’re good to go.” She straightened up. “Of course, you realize this whole thing could be a set up.”

Duncan grimaced. “The thought had occurred to me. But it’s not like I have a choice.” He looked between his friends. “If either of you want out, I’ll understand.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Likewise,” said Connor, in a tone that said Duncan was lucky he was feeling generous.

Amanda began packing up her cases. “Never thought I’d say this, but I wish Methos was here.” She met Duncan’s look. “What? You have to admit, he can be handy to have around in these kinds of situations.”

Duncan said, “I couldn't agree more. But he’s in the wrong hemisphere, and time is not on our side. We can handle it.” Privately, he figured the odds were about even whether Methos and Connor would have killed one another. “And look at it this way—if this doesn’t work, at least somebody lives to tell the tale.”

Closing the laptop, Amanda asked, “You really think this is the end of the Watchers?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But the kid did sound sincere.”

“Speaking of which,” Connor said, “we should probably stash him somewhere for the duration.” 

Amanda’s eyebrows rose. “You left him alive?” She looked at Duncan and waved a hand. “Of course you did. I forgot who I was talking to. Not a problem—I’ll get Pascal on it.”

“Amanda,” Duncan said. “Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“But of course, darling.” She smiled, and snapped the last case shut. “What are friends for?”

~ * ~

Cloud cover was on their side, concealing Duncan and Connor’s position in the woods outside the chateau in a thick cloak of darkness. Duncan could barely make out the frost of his own breath, and his kinsman was little more than a shadow beside him. “We’ll go in together,” Duncan said in a low voice. “Scale the wall of the east wing, and go in through that corner window.”

“Sounds good,” Connor agreed.

“Five minutes,” Amanda’s calm voice came over comms. “Wait for my signal.”

“Copy that,” Duncan said. He adjusted his glove and checked his earpiece to make sure it wouldn’t slip. Connor was a solid presence beside him. They had known each other for so long, fought together so many times, that Duncan was surprised when he spoke aloud.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

The night was so dark, he couldn’t make out Connor’s expression. “Just wondering if you’re ready for whatever we find in there.”

“If he's alive, we're getting him out. And if he's not—” Duncan broke off. 

After a long moment, Connor’s hand found his shoulder. “I know,” he murmured. “It never gets easier.”

Duncan closed his eyes for a second. He couldn’t afford to let himself think about it. “Don’t,” he said. Then amended, “Not now, all right?”

Connor’s hand fell away. “Of course.”

Duncan took a deep breath. He centered himself, pushing thoughts of failure aside. Joe was alive, and they were getting him out: end of story.

He waited another thirty seconds, then said, “Let’s move.”

~ * ~

Once they were inside, Duncan and Connor moved as swiftly and silently as they could, determined to delay raising the alarm as long as possible. Between them, they took out seven men one at a time before an eighth surprised them from a side corridor and managed to get off a shot, catching Duncan in the side. He swore and fell back a step. Connor had the man down, knocked out with the butt of his own weapon, before Duncan could draw a full breath.

“Bad?” Connor asked, his voice tight.

Duncan prodded gingerly at the wound. It was bleeding freely, and burned like the devil, but he’d had worse. “Grazed me, that’s all.” 

Connor shot him a glance even as he flattened himself against the wall and checked the magazine of the rifle he’d liberated. “You sure?”

“I’ll live.” He jerked a chin as someone shouted the alarm in another part of the house. “Come on, they’re playing our song.”

“They’re on the move,” Amanda’s voice came over comms, steady and sure. “Three hostiles heading for the main hall.”

Gunfire stopped them at the central staircase, two men and a woman appearing from the opposite hallway. Duncan and Connor crouched behind the balustrade, chips of marble flying. Duncan met Connor’s gaze and saw that they were of one accord—now that the alarm had been raised, time was of the essence. If Joe was still alive, they had to move fast. Duncan steeled himself against the pain and vaulted over the railing, Connor ahead of him by half a second. They landed in the front hall and rolled in opposite directions, letting momentum carry them. They came up firing.

“Not far now,” Connor said when the three figures were down, checking Duncan with a touch at his back. “You good?”

“Since when do I need to be coddled?” Duncan hissed. “Quit asking stupid questions.”

Connor grinned. “Just checking.”

“Well, don’t.” Duncan, his wound already half-healed, led the way down the hall in the direction of the room Amanda had guessed was shielded. Double doors greeted them. “This looks like the place.”

Connor canted his head. “After you, big guy.”

“You’ve got about twenty seconds,” Amanda informed them. “I count five hostiles headed your way.”

“Going in,” Duncan said. He cocked his weapon and hit the doors with his heel; they gave with gratifying cooperation. A second kick and they flew open. He and Connor moved in concert, going in low.

“What the _hell_ is going on out there?” demanded a familiar voice, and Duncan had never been so glad to hear Joe Dawson in a bad mood. He couldn’t afford to give in to relief, but it sang quietly in his blood nonetheless. He ignored it, and took quick inventory of the room. 

“No hostiles,” he reported after a moment. “We found Dawson. He’s alive.”

“Mac? Is that you?”

“It’s me, Joe.” Duncan shifted his weapon into his left hand and went to Dawson’s side. Joe was lying blindfolded on a fold-out medical cot, one wrist chained to the metal frame. His legs were nowhere in evidence, which made the restraints a bit overkill. Then again, Joe was resourceful—Duncan couldn’t blame his abductors for playing it safe. “Connor, cover me.”

“Connor?” A touch of awe registered in Joe’s voice, despite his exhaustion and strain. “Damn, Mac, you pulled out all the stops.”

“Only the best for you, Joe,” Duncan said, gripping his shoulder and squeezing gently. “Give me a minute, and we’ll get you out of here.”

“Incoming,” Connor intoned. “Get down.”

“Hang on, okay?” Duncan told Joe. “Gotta take care of the welcoming committee.”

“Tell ’em to go to hell for me, willya?”

“You got it, Joe.”

Connor and Duncan took opposite sides of the doorway, breaking out the small explosives. A couple of carefully aimed grenades took out the first few attackers. The two remaining took their compatriots’ fate to heart, and kept to cover, creating a momentary stand-off. “I can hold them off,” Connor said, after they’d exchanged a few rounds. “You get Dawson, and look for another way out.”

“Appreciate the thought,” Joe said as Duncan returned to his side, “but there ain’t one. This room’s walled off from the rest of the house. We gotta clear that hallway.”

“You let us worry about that,” Duncan said. “Are you hurt?”

“Not so’s you’d notice. Took my damn legs, though. Said they threw ’em out with the trash. Think they mostly kept me alive for insurance against you.”

“Mm. How’s that working out for them, you think?”

“I’m gonna go with, not so great.”

“I think you’d be right.” Duncan slipped his bolt cutters out of his pack, along with a homemade wrist protector, and blessed Amanda’s thoroughness. “Hold still,” he cautioned, wiggling the wrist guard under the cuff, then working the bolt cutters around the shackle. Careful pressure snapped the metal. When he’d freed Joe’s wrist and the danger of flying metal was past, he reached up and pulled the blindfold off. He ruffled Joe’s hair, his thumb brushing the arch of his friend’s cheekbone. “Hey, there,” he said, and smiled.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Joe said. 

“Likewise, my friend. You ready to get out of here?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“Every chance he gets,” Duncan answered. “Listen, I hate to do this, but—”

“Do what you have to. This ain’t the time to stand on ceremony.”

“Connor, you ready?”

“What do you think?” Connor answered.

“Amanda?”

“Extraction team’s on its way in.”

“Mac, wait.” Joe’s hand on his arm stopped him. “This room. Wasn't me they were worried about. Stashing me here was just convenient.”

“What do you mean?”

Joe jerked his chin toward a cabinet on the far side of the room. “The archives, everything we’ve got in digital form. The backups. They’re all here.” Duncan’s gaze followed his gesture. “We can’t leave ‘em, Mac. They’re worth more than all of us put together.”

Duncan’s gaze swung back to Connor, still exchanging occasional fire with the two Watchers in the hallway. “Three minutes,” he said.

“Make it two,” Connor shot back.

Duncan moved.

~ * ~

They nearly made it. As they went out through the service entrance, Duncan could hear gunfire beyond the gate—Wolfe and Amanda taking down the perimeter guards to reach them. Then a car burst into the courtyard from a nearby garage, running them down. Duncan dove to one side, trying his best to cover Joe with his body while cushioning his fall. They hit the ground and rolled, Joe swearing a blue streak. Duncan managed to hold on to his weapon, but when he stopped sliding across the cobblestones and got his bearings, he saw Joe a few feet away with one of the car’s occupants standing over him, gun cocked.

“Stop where you are! Toss your weapons away and turn over the backup drives, if you don’t want me to paint the ground with his brains.”

Beyond the car’s wheels, Duncan saw Connor roll to a crouch. His familiar tennis shoes found purchase and moved swiftly toward the rear of the car. Duncan’s finger found the trigger of his pistol, though he was careful not to aim it. "I wouldn't," he warned.

“Do it now!” the man ordered.

The muzzle of Connor’s pistol appeared over the trunk a second before a blinding flash followed by an echoing _crack_. The man holding the gun on Joe collapsed in a heap.

“Not like you didn’t warn him,” Connor said, and stood.

Duncan rose and raised his weapon at the wide-eyed driver, halfway out of the vehicle with his own weapon drawn.

“You want to walk out of here in one piece?” he snarled. “Drop the gun, and we'll let you. But if you try anything, I swear, you'll wish you never lived.”

The Watcher, trapped, cast a glance back and forth between them. Voice mild, Connor said, "Not a chance in hell you can take us both, and you know it. I’d do as he says.” At last the man tossed his gun into the car and spread his hands. As if on cue, a panel van sped into the courtyard past the open gate. The side door opened and Amanda jumped out. Without ceremony, she snapped a sharp blow at the side of the man’s jaw, and he went down like a sack of flour.

“Not that this little dramatic scene isn’t touching and all, but you guys want to get a move on, or wait around for the cops? Come on, people, let’s go!”

~ * ~

Joe flat out refused to go to the hospital, and after what he’d been through, Duncan couldn’t blame him. He might have argued the point harder had Amanda not pointed out that, things being what they were, they were all a hell of a lot safer if they stayed off the radar and as far away from Paris as they could get. “Probably best if we split up, too. I’ll call Father Riley and have him bring us another car.”

Duncan did what he could to help Joe get comfortable in the back of the van. “We’ll get you a chair tomorrow,” he promised. “And a new set of legs as soon as we can.” He could only imagine what it must be like for Joe to have to rely on a bunch of Immortals under the circumstances. To change the subject, he said, “Is there anyone you need to contact?”

But Joe shook his head. “The best thing I can do for any of them is stay away, at least for now.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, looking every bit of five years older than the last time Duncan had seen him. “It’s all gone to hell, Mac. Four thousand years, and this is what it’s come to.”

Duncan glanced at Connor. “You’ll have to fill us in, Joe. What’s happened?”

Surprised, Joe looked between them. “You mean you don’t know?” When Duncan shook his head, he frowned. “Then how’d you find me?”

“Some young punk going by the name of Stephane Martin. Tried to take me out. Said the Watchers were history, and it was my fault. That’s about all we know.”

Joe gave a bitter laugh. “Tried to take _you_ out. By himself?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Kids these days. I thought he had a decent head on his shoulders.”

“Interesting way of putting it,” Duncan said dryly. “This isn’t Shapiro’s doing, is it?”

“Nah. Jack’s been out since ninety-six. This is a whole new regime. They think they can engineer the Game, for Christ’s sake—and who the hell knows? They might actually do it. They’re fanatics, convinced this is what we were meant for all along.” He sighed, and closed his eyes. “It all comes back to Horton in the end. Horton, and Kalas. Maybe we were fooling ourselves that we could keep a secret this big in this day and age.”

“Duncan,” Amanda said from the front seat. “Joe’s exhausted. Can it wait?”

A glance at his friend told Duncan that she was right; Joe was half asleep already, his face pale in the reflected lights of the autoroute. A sharp ache twisted behind Duncan’s breastbone, and he knew it for what it was: he’d missed his friend, more than he’d wanted to admit. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It can wait.” He’d heard enough for tonight.

To his surprise, Joe reached out and clasped a callused hand over his, patting him. In another moment, he was out.

“Liam’s meeting us south of the city,” Amanda said quietly. “We should be there in a little under an hour.” Her eyes went to Joe, her expression sad. Duncan could guess what she was thinking. Then she found a small smile. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

He’d forgotten. “Thanks. Some birthday.”

“Could’ve been worse,” she said.

“True.”

They drove in silence for a little while, until Amanda and Nick began talking quietly in the front seat. Eventually, Duncan became aware that Connor was watching him watching Joe Dawson sleep, and his face warmed.

“Was it worth it?” Connor asked, too low for the others to hear.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Duncan glanced out at the passing cars. “I thought it'd be better this way.”

“Did you?”

Duncan shot him an irritated look. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Did you really think that staying away would make any difference? Everyone knows what he is to you. Watchers _and_ Immortals. He's a mortal who chose to live in our world. He was never going to be safe.”

“I know that. Of course I know that. I just—I thought if I stopped making it so easy for them.”

“And did you tell him that? When you decided to cut him loose?”

Shamefaced, Duncan looked away.

Connor laughed his soft, humorless laugh. “You never cease to amaze me. Were you always this thick-skulled?”

Duncan sighed. “You tell me.”

~ * ~

They parted ways under the harsh lights of the car park, with quick hugs and promises to check in once they were sure they’d covered their tracks and regrouped—Amanda and Wolfe heading north to London, the MacLeods and Dawson planning to drive east to Vienna, where Methos had a townhouse he was willing to share. “You sure?” Duncan had asked, leaning over the back of the seat to talk to him on speaker phone. “From the sound of things, could get messy.”

“What else is new? Things have been messy since the day I met you.” His peevish tone relented a little. “Besides, gives me a reason to have the place aired out.”

“Always full of surprises,” was Joe’s comment when they arrived just after one in the morning, and pulled into the pristine garage. “Wonder how many of these joints he has stashed around the globe?”

“As many as it takes, I’d imagine,” Duncan answered. He got out and opened the passenger door, hesitating. 

“I’ll go see if I can find the lights,” Connor said, and disappeared into the house.

Joe grinned. “Don’t be shy, Mac. At least, not on my account.”

Duncan carried him inside, and it was a relief to feel how solid he still was despite the years. Duncan was struck, not for the first time, by the fact that Joe Dawson knew him better than almost anyone he’d ever known, while Duncan saw only what Joe chose for him to see. That had always been the nature of their friendship. It couldn’t have been easy for Joe to lean on him, to let him help when it came to using the john, to setting him up with a shower chair, but they managed. 

Afterward, he got Joe settled in one of the guest rooms. He sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly more than a bit exhausted himself. “My room’s right next door,” he said. “If you need anything, just say the word.”

“Thanks, Mac. For everything.” Joe studied him, amusement in his eyes. “I should’ve known you’d come after me.”

Duncan squeezed his shoulder. “Thanks to Stephane Martin. I’m glad it wasn’t too late.”

“You and me both, pal.”

Duncan hesitated. He’d never trusted the Watchers, and only grudgingly come around to seeing them as a necessary evil, but Joe Dawson had spent his whole life upholding their ideals, and that deserved some acknowledgment. What could he say that wouldn’t ring hollow?

At last he said, “I’m sorry about your friends, Joe.”

“Yeah, well. Me, too.” He fell quiet a moment, then added, “None of this was your fault, Mac.”

“If you say so.” Duncan studied his friend, remembering the day they’d met. How angry he’d been about Darius. How years later, when Ahriman came, it had been Joe Dawson who’d stood beside him. “Do you remember once, a long time ago, I asked you if you regretted our friendship?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“What about now? Knowing what it’s cost?”

Joe frowned. “Do I have regrets? Sure. Of course I do. But you and me—that’s not one of them. It never will be.” The look on Duncan’s face must have prompted him to add, “What?”

Duncan was silent for long moments, struggling for words to express what he was feeling. At last, he said, “Connor said that everyone knows what you are to me. But I know they don't, because I didn't. Even after all this time. I don’t want to lose you.”

Abashed, Joe said, “Look, Mac, I get it. I told you that five years ago.”

“Yeah. You did. And I walked away from that. From you.”

“You did what you had to.”

“I thought you’d be safer.” They exchanged a wry look. “Look how that turned out.”

After a long moment, Joe said, “So, now what? I mean, for all intents and purposes, the Watchers are no more, and neither is Duncan MacLeod.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“And I don't know about you, but I sure could use a vacation.”

“Does sound good,” Duncan admitted. 

They looked at one another, knowing each other too well, even after all this time.

Joe sighed. “I guess somebody's got to try and stop them.”

Duncan nodded solemnly. “Guess so.”

“That mean you’re in?”

Duncan held out a hand. When Joe took it, Duncan shifted his grip and guided their forearms together like he’d done once years ago. Then, to his own surprise, he leaned down and put his other arm around Joe’s neck, holding him close.

“Joe. I don't deserve you. I never did. But yeah, I'm in. If you'll have me.” 

Joe didn’t hesitate. He closed a hand roughly over the back of Duncan’s neck. Gruff, he said, “Like you ever had to ask.”


End file.
